


Naughty Shenanigans

by sparklight



Category: Transformers (Dreamwave Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Public Humiliation, Spark Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:18:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of old kinkmeme fills I decided to look through and post up here!</p>
<p>There's SG!Sideswipe/Cliffjumper, Sunstorm/Starscream, Optimus/Megatron and Megatron/Grimlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Weapons and Familiarities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe and Cliffjumper in the shooting range/training hall; Cliffjumper with a new weapon he's testing, Sideswipe just training.
> 
> Or, well, TRYING to train. Cliffjumper and his rifle are a MITE distracting.

You didn't need to be a genius to realize that besides preferring to get up close and personal when he _could_ , Cliffjumper preferred his weapons large and unsubtle. So when the minibot came stalking into the sparring area/shooting range at what had become a weekly occurrence and started pulling out pieces and putting them together, Sideswipe tilted his helm.

"New weapon?" Pausing in his assault on the dummy while idly twirling his batons, Sideswipe quietly stared as Cliffjumper just muttered an affirmative at first, and then, after another klik of silence as he slowly put the weapon together, elaborated.

"Ain't my thing, but seemed like it might be a good idea, considerin'." 

Scowling at his work, Cliffjumper slowly ran his hand down a rifle that - predictably - was as long as he himself was tall. Sideswipe was suddenly hit with a wave of nearly alien nostalgia, but despite the fleeting familiarities, the living Cliffjumper was different enough to the dead one that the rifle alone couldn't tie any lasting image of the two together. 

He'd been close enough to the "native" Cliffjumper that he'd been able to be present to see the navy and gunmetal-gray minibot put together his rifle often enough that it was _odd_ seeing the same motions be performed by the red and silver one.

Though this Cliffjumper looked quite a bit more disapproving as he slid his thumb from the butt of the rifle, along the stock, and then curled his hand around the trigger. Sideswipe tore his stare away and turned back to the dummy, slamming both batons down into the neck area at the same time as an echoing crack from the rifle sounded. 

Both noises threaded themselves together and thrummed through his frame. The first directly physical, vibrations down his fingers and through his hands and then into the underlying superstructure, cables and protoform of his arms; the latter aural, hitting the back of his helm with a whack, sliding over the surface and then in and down through his vents and along the cables in his neck.

His next strike was a two-fold tip and broadside combination, and for some reason it was exceedingly jarring to have the shot from the rifle hit _between_ the strike of the tip against the dummy's throat and the slam of the side of his baton against its midsection. 

Sideswipe stopped and stared at the faceless dummy, a frown sliding over his faceplates. Maybe the issue was that Cliffjumper usually joined him at the dummies when he was already there (most times anyway)? 

Or was it the fact that the cannon Cliffjumper favoured whenever he wasn't using the smaller, more whining laser pistols or the glass-gas one which made only the faintest of noise, was deeper? The cannon tended to slam along his whole frame with the same sort of force the explosion itself inflicted on its target area.

Realizing he'd missed the fourth shot, Sideswipe shook his helm and turned back to the dummy. He was being stupid. The only thing different now compared to any of the other times was that Cliffjumper was kneeling down, half stretched out over the long, slender weapon with a frown that neared a scowl on his faceplates, optics narrow. 

The only thing 'wrong' was the colour... and, admittedly, a more open, less pinched expression. Sideswipe grit his teeth, ignored how the sixth shot thrummed through the outer layers of his armour and melted out along the underlying circuits and protoform and turned back to the dummy. He had been out of form last battle, and that needed to be rectified.

Cliffjumper didn't like getting used to a new weapon. 

The only thing easing the transition was that the rifle had been made after exacting specifications; in fact, Starscream seemed to have gone out of his way to make sure the rifle _fit_ him in a way few weapons had done before. 

That didn't make it any _easier_. He knew how to handle rifles, and a sniper rifle was included in that, but it was just... a lot more sophisticated and _subtle_ to what he preferred. 

Less clean, surgical thrumming in the shots and the way they hit, and more echoing explosive _oomph_ with a nice, visible crater. 

But considering how the Decepticons here fought, if he could add this to their repertoire... And, something he'd never admit, having heard that his... alternate? was a "crack shot sniper" had made something in him shift, engine growling. He didn't need to show himself as "better than" his alternate, the mech was _already worse_ than he was, considering what and who he had aligned himself with--- 

Still.

Something about the whole thing still rankled, and Cliffjumper had decided he'd master this area too, even if it wasn't what he _preferred_ to do. Scowling at his target, Cliffjumper didn't really need to shift his stance to jiggle the butt where it rested against the arc of the connecting armour on the side of his helm, inside the spaulder. The butt had been made to rest there, and fit both comfortably and securely.

Which was why he was shifting.

Partly because this was the first weapon he'd had made _for him_ in such a way, and partly because it wasn't his preferred _type_ of weapon that had been made. He'd deal. Get used to it and deal... 

The clang of Sideswipe's batons hitting the dummy in the melee training area behind him was distracting, and Cliffjumper released the heated vent he'd been keeping in. He wasn't at all at the point where he could sit with his back to Sideswipe, listen to the way the batons hit the dummy, the tilt and speed and sound, and identify what, exactly Sideswipe was doing. 

It was odd - in more ways than the most obvious - to see Sideswipe use batons as his preferred weapons... partly because it seemed so _obvious_. Fitting and sort of brutal in a way that should perhaps have suited the Sideswipe he'd known at home more than this one, who seemed somewhat more reasonable and level-headed... Except for the fact that he _had been_ part of the Autobots of this world.

Cliffjumper noted with a frown that Sideswipe must have paused in his training for some reason, as his next shot lined up neatly with a mute thump and a protesting shriek of metal being hit by the batons. The last klik, he realized, had only been filled by the shivering crack-thrum of his rifle's shots.

Grunting, he sprawled out flat and tried to, once again, concentrate on the weapon in his hands and the targets in front of him. Really, even with his distraction there was a satisfying level of accuracy to the hits on the targets he was aiming at, and Cliffjumper grinned. 

Carefully sliding his other hand down the rifle, feeling out swells and dips and grooves in its structure, he decided that maybe this wouldn't be so bad. The next shot sang through him, and this time he could even sort of _appreciate_ the gentle slide of vibration along the upper surfaces of his armour, imagine the accommodating shift of the colour-nanites embedded in those layers as they responded to the pressure of the physical as well as aural vibrations from the rifle itself and the shots.

As such, his response to Sideswipe was distracted but still not _completely_ so. Yet it was a complete surprise as the rifle was slammed out of his hands by a passing knee and he was flipped around on his back, the fist he lashed out with in instinctual response caught in a larger hand.

"What the _frag_ Sideswipe--?" Cliffjumper yelped, flexing his captured hand as their fingers interlaced. Despite the lack of - possibly - hostile intent, the flare of red optics this close above him was enough to tense every cable and piston to readiness.

Sideswipe knew he shouldn't have done that. 

He really had more patience and capability for planning than this, but there was just _something_ about that tiny form sprawled out on the ground with a weapon that should be too huge for him, but didn't possess enough mass to take over the whole visual that, apparently, just wormed straight into his processor. 

He _couldn't slagging well concentrate_.

He was also sure somewhere in the back of his processor that if anyone else saw this, it'd get back to Bombshell, who'd sit him down and question his response in that measured, patient voice that indicated he could wait a vorn or more for the actual, and not any counterfeited, reply.

Currently, however, what was in the front of Sideswipe's processing queue was how Cliffjumper had handled the rifle, every little shift and adjustment to the weapon, and it was all so _familiar_ \---

"Just a moment---" He knew that was a stupid response to Cliffjumper's sputtered question, especially with how _tense_ the hand which was not _quite_ dwarfed by his own was. But mostly it _was_ and that turned his engine around as well, a rev that thrummed through him and down into the frame below him and he caught the shift of Cliffjumper when it hit. 

All that was, presently, just more details that fitted in with the _familiarity_ and their lips fit together with a reverberating scrape that echoed the earlier vibrations from Cliffjumper's rifle as they had teased right through him.

The clang of a fist hitting the inside of the wheel-array of his pauldrons was jarring enough it made Sideswipe sit up and actually _pay attention_ to the last few seconds. Cliffjumper being shocked right into the sort of response he'd just been hit with to the kiss he'd sort of but not really expected, somehow forgetting the _differences_ between the two different Cliffjumpers he'd met and talked to. What wasn't expected at all was the bright, wide optics and the hand flailing against his shoulder.

"The--- You... _the slag_ , Sideswipe, _what_ \---!" The exasperated yell got nowhere, and Cliffjumper punched the ground instead of the teal-and-gray Autobot this time. 

Besides the static underlying the words, the glow from his optics were strong enough to paint the faceplates underneath them blue, and while the colour was "wrong" - and not a response Sideswipe would ever expect to see from an _Autobot_ \- he still got it. And wasn't sure how to respond to _that_ , at all.

"Er--- Sorry. Been distracted all session. Should've checked before I just exploded all over you. I'll get off--" He'd just have to find someone _else_ , even if what he wanted at the moment was right _here_. Right here and tiny enough to fit underneath him in a way no frame of similar height could.

"Wha-- _No_!" 

The shout caught both of them by surprise, if Cliffjumper's expression was anything to go by. The mini immediately looked away, slamming his open palm against the upper arm he'd earlier punched. There wasn't, however, enough force in the motion to actually push Sideswipe _off_.

He shouldn't find this charming. He shouldn't find this _cute_ , especially not a fellow Autobot... Even if Cliffjumper admittedly was a different _type_ of Autobot. For some reason Cliffjumper's reaction merely made him think of the rifle laying abandoned a step or two away from them where it had slid after he knocked it away.

New weapons, and all that.

"Hey. I don't _have to_ leave, not if you don't want to, CJ. We'll just take this---nmph!" He should probably have expected to be grabbed by the sides of his helm and yanked down, their lips sliding together with an awkward crackle of static from the sensation. 

He shouldn't let the fumbling but still aggressive slide of small fingers down his lower arm along the seam distract him.

This should be done with some finesse and _patience_ , but the response, even _with_ the slight hesitance he could pick up on because it was so very unexpected, was so very _familiar_ \---

And so very different from how most of the Decepticons he'd gotten this close to _usually_ responded that he let himself be distracted.

Sideswipe hummed into the kiss, their teeth resting together amplifying the vibrations, causing static to spark between them, and while he was very aware of the twitchy, wide expression on Cliffjumper's faceplates and ready to get out of the way if the minibot decided to move, he didn't. 

Those small, broad hands stroked down metal, harsh and slightly jerky. Some would have complained, but Sideswipe didn't mind. It might lack an edge of complete knowledge of what he was doing, but at least there was force behind the strokes, reverberating down into the underlying layers of circuits, wires and struts, pressing down on the protoform in a way that made him shiver.

Tipping Cliffjumper's helm back to get another angle, his fingers brushed thin, warm metal and Sideswipe grinned into the kiss, letting his thumb follow the slatted metal gently, a counterpoint to his other hand closing about the rounded arc of a hip joint and _squeezing_. 

Cliffjumper jerked, the noise mostly swallowed by their kiss and static, Sideswipe just chuckled at the kick clanging against the armour of his lower leg. The brief flare of pain threaded together with the pleasure from elsewhere, charge pulsing down circuits which flared at the _tension_ in the smaller frame beneath him. He knew he should let up the hand on Cliffjumper's throat; who _wouldn't_ be nervous about that? But the fingers threading into the spokes of his left shoulder wheel and jerking each time his thumb pressed down was too much of a temptation to resist.

And so he didn't resist, lazily moving the kiss from Cliffjumper's mouth to one side of his helm, biting probably slightly too hard at the rounded bottom edge - sensor nodes as charged as they were and tuned sensitive for what they were doing, he didn't really need to use the force he did. But again Cliffjumper jerked beneath him, fingers tightening about the spokes and the choked off curse was more than worth it... 

Not that he was finished. 

Humming, Sideswipe trailed upwards, pausing right above his target as Cliffjumper tensed.

"You---" Cliffjumper hissed and warm, spent air puffed up around their helms from Cliffjumper's vents. He squeezed the spokes of the wheel in his hand hard enough the pressure made the nodes send out warnings, but that just sent a thrill spreading out over Sideswipe's sensor net and caused heat to curl along his wiring. Sideswipe had a feeling Cliffjumper would be blaming himself afterwards, but he'd have to make sure the mini understood he didn't _mind_. Less than didn't mind.

"I can go elsewhere," Sideswipe murmured, right above the flat top of the horn, the vibrations much like the ones from both the batons hitting their targets and the rifle being fired earlier, sliding right along the metal. Cliffjumper shivered, energy humming, trapped, between them and underneath armour.

"... No, that's--- I mean... It's okay." It took a full klik before Cliffjumper said anything, and when he finally _did_ it was accompanied by a frustrated snarl and a jerky shake of his helm that just _barely_ avoided brushing Sideswipe's lips against the horn.

"Okay." He shouldn't have chuckled, he knew, but how _couldn't_ he? 

Cliffjumper's reply got lost in a choked-off, static moan as he locked his lips about the sensory horn. Maybe he should've chosen somewhere else to concentrate on, because what he _really_ wanted to do was to slam Cliffjumper down properly - or up against a wall would work as well - and work him over well and good. 

But he wouldn't do that right off, and not with a---

He caught most of the groan, but not _all_ , static sparking off against his tongue and the horn in his mouth, causing Cliffjumper to jerk beneath him and push his thumb against the edge of the healed gash over his Autobot insignia. Tuned-up sensory nodes and the charge flickering down along his limbs made sure the still "injured" spot was more sensitive than normal, and Cliffjumper rubbed the heel of his thumb in even as he sort of froze against Sideswipe as he closed his teeth around two sides and scraped them downwards along the horn.

It really wasn't enough, and yet it somehow _was_ , at least for the moment. 

Perhaps it had something to do with the glance Sideswipe caught of the abandoned rifle, the light from above reflected down its gleaming length. Or perhaps it was just the familiar-but-new sensation caused by this that when Cliffjumper - probably accidentally - pressed his thumb in firmly enough into the gash to send a spike of pure, over-keyed _sensation_ through Sideswipe's sensor net the charge rose up, white-hot and refusing to be throttled.


	2. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream gives Sunstorm a chance to persuade him to his side of things.
> 
> There might also be some divine intervention right at the end as well.

Omega Supreme toppled like a literal and proverbial tree... A tree made out of many hundreds of tons of metal that was, and Sunstorm, hovering above and alight like a supernova was virtually untouched by the earlier onslaught. 

"May your spark find rest as your frame has; the light will forgive and cradle you, even in your taint. I, however, cannot grant the mercy you might have deserved, for time is short and growing shorter." Sunstorm's voice was surprisingly solemn, lacking any smugness in his victory as he slowly descended. 

Starscream, having paused without meaning to a safe distance away from the nuclear battle, decided he didn't want to give in to his 'brother's' demands just yet. He had a fail-safe now, something with which he could defend himself against his crazy, super-powered clone, but that was for emergencies. It would, either way, be useful if needed. 

He'd seen nothing yet to convince him of the advantages of joining forces with his clone, though if Sunstorm couldn't be stopped he might have trouble getting any extra help now, considering that he'd burned the bridges to the Autobots when he left the Orion pretty well and good. 

He _could_ probably trust Jetfire to still come and, when needed, help him, but he might not remain unharmed. Jetfire cared far too much, but that didn't mean the large jet didn't have a limited amount of patience.

With that thought at the forefront of his processor, Starscream peeled away, intent on putting as much distance between them as possible. Ignoring the shouted protest behind him, Starscream was secure in the fact that he was faster than Sunstorm. 

Except they'd been rather close to each other this time, and Sunstorm had still been in the air. He might have miscalculated the headstart he'd need to counterbalance Sunstorm's super-speed...

Heat made the air shriek as Starscream rolled and spiralled down, avoiding the yellow jet bearing down on him, angling sharply upwards shortly thereafter, banking away. Starscream kept, barely, out of reach, forever half a breath away, in front of Sunstorm. He was however unable to shake his clone off, ignoring half-transmitted entreaties and demands over the comm, that after awhile nearly seemed lyrical. 

It was when the water turned brightly turquoise far below them, the cold of Alaska left behind, that Starscream realized he was being _herded_. 

Offended and outraged, Starscream pulled his nosecone down, flipping around and transforming in the same movement when it was almost too late, and touched down on a palm-studded strip of sand. He would end this _now_. 

No more games, no more chases, no more _blathering_ \---

"Brother, have you finally opened your spark to the truth, the obligation we've been given, the divine gift awaiting?" Except Sunstorm seemed pretty set on continuing said blathering as he touched down a short bit away from Starscream, arms held wide and unknowing of his "progenitor's" conclusions.

"Oh, I've opened myself to the _truth_ all right. A truth that means we _end this_!" Starscream snapped, null-ray coming up and pointing at Sunstorm's cockpit canopy. 

There was a brief snarl rippling over Sunstorm's faceplates, his white hands forming fists and Starscream stiffened, readying himself to shoot and test his modifications... When Sunstorm relaxed, straightening slightly and lifting his arms up, hands opened up, palms up. 

There was only the barest glimmer of the violent radiation the clone contained skittering over his plating, a subdued glow beneath the white and yellow.

"A moment, Starscream; let me _show you_ the unbound glory of the light, the truth of the words the oracle has imparted unto me," one hand was stretched out further, beseeching where he'd before been demanding, asking, hounding, "my anointed task is great, but I am merely a servant. Divinely gifted with power and knowledge as needed, but a servant. My words are paltry in the face of the true, original light!" Sunstorm stopped right at Starscream's raised arm, grasping the underside of it, but no more than that. 

The grip was light, near non-existent, and the power within could be felt like a slight humming heat. Starscream snarled, his null-ray powering up and then... stared. 

Sunstorm was merely looking at him, no radiation or power spitting out in great, lightning-like arcs from either his plating or his optics. There was patience in those too-bright yellow optics. Beneath that, however, there was power. Barely leashed, capable of being _unleashed_ at any moment, the air _thick_ with it, but, currently, no threat of that. 

Not that said power could affect Starscream in any way, but it was a tempting beacon and threat nontheless – Sunstorm _was_ stronger than him.

Starscream hesitated. 

He had no greater urge to listen to his insane clone's ramblings, but maybe he could get _something_ out of it? Even a scrap of information gleaned - if it was possible - from what was said... or shown, might help him figure out if it'd be worth following up on whatever Sunstorm wanted him to do. At his own leisure, after he'd gotten _rid_ of Sunstorm, of course. 

Red optics narrowed minutely, his fist tightening slightly before the null-rays powered down.

"All right. One chance. You've got half an hour," Starscream huffed at the uncomprehending look he got, gesturing sharply with his free hand, "around _three breems_. Happy now? And I want my arm back." He pulled at his still-outstretched arm, but the grip Sunstorm had on it tightened minutely and Starscream was about to make some remark about having a death wish when Sunstorm leaned down, kissing first the back of Starscream's hand, and then the barrel of the null-ray. 

Starscream gaped, at first uncomprehending at what had just happened, and then flailed a bit, trying to retreat.

"Wha-- you-- That's not---!"

Later, he would deny having been so badly _surprised_ by Sunstorm's actions, if only to himself because he was certainly not going to reveal _anything_ of this to _anyone_ else ever!

"We are sheltered while unable to defend ourselves; the oracle in its wisdom providing protection. Later, we are armed, both without and within, the light knowing we are strong enough to defend ourselves as well as others," Sunstorm hummed, dragging one finger down the null-ray and over the top of a chest turbine, the touch like a line of fire, but not - entirely - due to the heat barely leashed beneath Sunstorm's plating and warming it. 

The strength behind it tripped sensors; the gentleness of it almost tickling, but the power and heat stirred _another_ response. Starscream scowled at the brief charge that skittered down his circuits. 

The clone couldn't, _wouldn't_ get to him that easily! And doing it with his _clone_? As if!

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, how about you--ahhn." Starscream... _squirmed_ , completely unprepared as the hand that now rested against the top of his cockpit scraped down the glass, over the bands of metal, the strength in the touch making the amber material vibrate. 

He hadn't bothered with this in _forever_ and was uncertain if it was supposed to feel like that, or if it was Sunstorm's power that fed something personal within, turning what usually was simple resentment and rebellious taunting in the face overwhelming, dangerous power of Megatron and his fusion cannon, into something less... appropriate. 

How embarrassing. 

And he really, really wouldn't--- His own blasted _clone_!

Or it might just be that Sunstorm _was_ his clone, knowing _where_ to touch and how, but complete genetic similarity didn't mean the crazy one had any sort of _insight_ , by the Matrix!

But that thought tipped Starscream over from vaguely disgusted offence to some admitted curiosity.

" _Brother_." Sunstorm's lips followed the length of the null-ray, the words murmured against metal as kisses were scattered over plating as he knelt down. The hand on Starscream's cockpit now back in height with his spark chamber, and it was _definitely_ vibrating with both warmth and power. 

"The oracle knows all that which it confers unto independent existence from the incandescent embrace of the original light. It has blessed me with its divine knowledge, _all_ that I might need to fulfil my obligation. I can show you... will bring you there and you'll _see_ , and surely you'll understand, but you _must_ open your spark. You're chosen, brother, but if you do not act, the shadow that follows the light will be the end." Sunstorm tilted his helm up, yellow optics seeking red, sparks of gold-tinted energy spitting out from them as the clone's control wavered, but it hardly mattered; Starscream, after all, would remain unharmed. 

Attempting to sneer at the terrifyingly _earnest_ expression he was faced with, Starscream had to swallow a noise and his vents stuttered, cooling fans kicking on as Sunstorm caressed down his cockpit, the circuitry beneath the amber glass warming despite everything. And then Sunstorm dug his thumbs into the gap between his thigh and pelvic armour, stroking cables and circuitry beneath.

Gritting his jaw, Starscream decided he had to put a _stop_ to this. He should. He had no idea what Sunstorm thought he was doing, this was _not_ what he'd asked for! 

He'd wanted _information_ and while the clone _was_ speaking he was doing a lot of other things too!

"Stop this this _instant_! How's this showing me _anything_!? Your time's ticking away just so you _kn_ \--nngh!" Starscream grabbed one of the hands on his hips and yanked, but that just made Sunstorm squeeze more firmly. His other hand went after an orange wing, attempting to pull Sunstorm away. 

His attempt were admittedly not as determined as they _could_ have been, slipping as Sunstorm leaned forward, putting pressure on the cables of his hips in a way that sent energy racing down the metal. And as Sunstorm continued to lean forward, he kissed the bottom tip of the cockpit, humming against the metal between canopy cockpit and the pelvic armour. 

Starscream shuddered and locked his joints, refusing to go down (like this, at all, he currently had _some_ sort of control by still standing up, surely!). Just because the humming travelled right in to his protoform and the wiring around his spark chamber, the sensors lightning up, charge building damn-near _instantly_ didn't mean he was beaten!

"Foolish Starscream. Don't you realize my hands aren't the only way I am able to _touch_ you? So with the light, and the knowledge from the oracle." Sunstorm briefly glanced upwards again, the glow from the glimpse of optic seemingly near-infernal in intensity and colour, despite not being red. 

"And in _this_ , my words cannot be enough. My touch shall reach _inside_ , stir the untainted presence within you, so that you might _understand_..." 

Lips and teeth wandered over the red metal of Starscream's pelvic armour, a tiny spark of energy zapping the cables in his hips, and while it didn't _hurt_ , or actually sap him of strength - no, not at all, and that was perhaps even _worse_ \- it washed over his sensory net and Starscream was unable to remain upright. 

He went to his knees, as much kneading as pushing at Sunstorm's helm as the clone locked his lips around one angled part of the armour and hummed again, warmth tickling down the metal. One white hand caressed down Starscream's thigh and when it came to the knee-joint, pulled, unbalancing Starscream and causing him to fall onto his back, nosecone burrowing into the sand.

"You're _crazy_!" Starscream's vocalizer fuzzed with static, breaking up any intended protest but not rendering it incomprehensible. How old _was_ his clone anyway? Regardless of them being the same, how did he even _know_ all this?

Starscream felt a sullen flare of possessiveness over his memories of doing _this_ , of stroking over white metal and wide wings, of blue optics locked on him at the thought of Sunstorm perhaps using them to pattern his knowledge after, but the thought disappeared as Sunstorm wandered up from red metal to amber glass and white metal bands, the hand on Starscream's knee tracing up to his thigh and the seams in the metal, rubbing at angles and then down the leg until it curled around the afterburner. 

Sunstorm's hand suddenly flushed with heat as he dragged his fingers down the ribbed outer housing of the afterburner, causing lightning charge to swamp Starscream's circuits, spilling over into his sensor net and turning it into a rising, heating pleasure that had his hands, pulling and jerking, falling to Sunstorm's vents to curl around them and tugging _towards_ him instead of away.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen, not how it was supposed to go, but Starscream wasn't sure he _cared_ any longer. Regardless of the fact that this was his clone or where Sunstorm had got the knowledge to do this.

Sunstorm _was_ talking, but nothing was - at the moment - making any more sense than anything else he had said, and this had obviously been a-ahh... _bad_ , yes bad, very, very... good idea, yes. 

No. 

Bad. 

Starscream shook his helm, optics flaring, and then dimming again as Sunstorm's other hand stroked from the dips and seams of his pelvic armour, up along the seam where canopy met the rest of his frame, his strength effortless, heat and pressure _just right_. 

By now, Sunstorm was lit up like a house on fire, energy and radiation lashing out in great pulses from his bright metal, adding an external charge to the one building within. Starscream shivered, wings twitching in their joints as they attempted to get rid of the building charge, _anything_ to lighten the pressure.

"Th--Ah. This isn't... showing me... an-anything but---Nnn." Starscream turned off his vocalizer, still not lost enough to the charge playing over metal and circuits, pooling heavier around his spark chamber, to not resent how _obviously_ this was getting to him.

"The foolish have malfunctioning optics as well as sparks, tainted or not, choosing to turn away from truth that blinds them. Come... come to me, Starscream. Touch it and _understand_ ," Sunstorm breathed, an undertone to his vocals that told Starscream _nothing_ , but at least the clone's face was filled with nothing but intent desire as black glass and metal plates shifted apart, exposing first the internal circuitry and the housing that protected the spark within, and then those plates shifted too, spiralling open like a flower. 

Starscream stared, riveted beside himself. Despite that pleasure was making his processor swim, clutching at bits of sensation - even if all was being logged for later - the heat pushing unbearably from within. 

He could kill Sunstorm now. 

His spark bared, even the crazy clone's overactive regenerative abilities would surely not be able to keep up with his _spark_ being extinguished. 

Yet, when Starscream raised a slightly shaking hand, his null-ray remained quiet and instead blue-plated fingers brushed up against _lightning_. 

Both Sunstorm and Starscream jerked, Starscream catching the moan that wanted to flee at the instant charge that penetrated through gaps in his hand, went through circuitry and cables that _shouldn't_ be sensitive but were, and Sunstorm's helm snapped back, and they were both engulfed in exploding radiation. 

Anyone else would have been sucked dry, melted, _overloaded_ ; whatever it was Sunstorm did. Starscream... felt a charge over his plating, from within, from under his hand, all of it rising unerringly, collecting around his spark chamber.

Then a third presence. 

Starscream's hand twitched in surprise, and Sunstorm twisted above him, his hands raking down sensitized metal in response, pulling charge unbearably upwards, but there was nowhere to _go_. 

It was light, and lightning, unbearable pressure and gentle embrace, a whisper of his designation, both infinitely adoring and harshly judging. 

It wasn't _Sunstorm_. 

Starscream quaked beneath the charge, drawing back like a wave about to break, but kept at its highest point. 

Sunstorm was fire and lightning, delicate blue beneath his hand, a twisted mirror of himself. Dedicated and loyal beyond understanding (he didn't want to understand) to _something_. Then darkness brushed along the same places that third presence had touched. 

Not _exactly_ a fourth presence, but nearly, fire and rage and an infinite falling sensation tearing down everything. 

Then lightning beat it back, a great flare of energy Starscream wasn't sure if it was physical or not, if he'd just _felt it_ or seen it as well. Sunstorm cried out, words incomprehensible and the charge expanded, Sunstorm's spark lashing out, inwards, and Starscream could neither hold on nor grasp as that third presence, infinitely gently, brushed along them both. 

Energy imploded, rushed down. The wave broke and crashed against his circuits as well as his spark, and everything shorted out.

He hurt. 

But he also felt _alive_. 

Powerful and strong and if _this_ was what Sunstorm had meant, if this was what was awaiting him... Well, he didn't trust the clone, and he wouldn't do anything without it being on _his_ terms, and he still didn't understand but... 

Starscream onlined his optics to a Sunstorm that almost seemed... dull, for the moment. Then he realized it was just because all that energy and radiation was, once again, carefully contained. The black glass of the cockpit canopy covered the incandescent spark within again.

"Brother," there was a smile there, warm and dangerous, the yellow optics alight, hinting at the energy within, "the light, the original light, has blessed us. Come. Time is growing short," Sunstorm said as he stood up, and while Starscream hesitated just an astrosecond, he took the offered hand and used it to level himself straight. 

The circuitry around his spark chamber fizzled and sort of ached, but it was a good sort of ache. Helped him focus. He would take what he was due, _and_ get rid of his clone. 

Oh, he'd _seen_ all right.

"Lead the way."


	3. A Moment of Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Axiom Nexus, High Commander Megatron and Optimus Prime walk a careful balance in ruling together, though they often don't see optic to optic, especially when it comes to their outworlder "visitors". But they have ways of making sure working together goes more easily than it otherwise could, and Optimus thinks it's been too long since they took such a moment to themselves...
> 
> Megatron might agree.

The room was... comfortable. No other word for it, really. Further, it was surprisingly informal, especially considering that it was just off the Prime's office in the High Senate.

"First, I get a request for my presence in front of the Prime, though since you didn't ask for it _immediately_ , I finished my meeting. Next... In here. Have you _reconsidered_ , Optimus? Will you compromise on the question of our unusual and dangerous 'guests'?" Megatron stood in the doorway, the top of his treads just barely escaping scraping the top of the doorframe, arms crossed. 

Having been looking down into a glass high grade, Optimus looked up, optics narrowing slightly.

"The matter will go past the council, as it _should_ , Megatron. I do not conduct decisions like this _behind the scenes_ ," Optimus' voice dropped as he spoke, rebuke clear. The red glow from Megatron's optics intensified for an astrosecond before he stepped clear into the room, allowing the door to close behind him.

"What is the _purpose_ of this call then, Optimus? We are both busy, _especially_ considering the Outworlders and Alpha Trion's little cracked-relay... insurgent group." 

There was no patience there and there was a slight, growling rev as the treads on Megatron's lower legs scraped along the floor. It quite neatly masked the actual annoyance in Megatron's voice, but Optimus knew him too well to not hear it anyway. Optimus finally put his high grade away, planted elbows on knees and rested his chin on his interlaced fingers.

"While I wouldn't conduct official matters in backroom deals and 'compromises'... There are other things that happen behind the scenes... Some of which we have neglected. It _was_ quite a while ago since last, wasn't it, Megatron?" 

The question wasn't really a question, Optimus' voice a low rumble, and the Commander stilled. His tight pose and the firmly crossed arms were released and just slightly relaxed, helm tilting.

"Yes. _Now_ , though, Optimus? I have matters to attend concerning the safety of Cybertron which you seem willing to lay aside to follow _proced_ \---"

"Megatron." Not a demand, not a rebuke, just his designation and Megatron shifted his weight forward, the beginnings of a snarl on his face; Optimus didn't have leave to _interrupt_ him, not here, not _yet_ , and he would _learn_...

"I just moved the senate meeting," said Optimus, off-hand almost, leaning back from his slouch, helm tilted slightly to the side as he turned to look out the window. Megatron paused, engine and temper quieting, and then another sort of expression started to form. 

_Compromises_ , indeed.

"You had three other meetings after the senate hearing... What timeslot?" Depending on what Optimus said in response, he could be willing to work with him. 

It _had _been quite a while, and Optimus' behaviour, skirting their normal rules as it was, was stirring pieces within that had been suppressed for too long. But allowing this before he had some sort of proof of Optimus' sincerity wouldn't happen.__

__Compromises came from _two_ people, after all._ _

__"As of now... midnight," Optimus' said, voice lighter than earlier, layered with a hum Megatron - as only a few others would also know - recognized as a smile. His answering smirk wasn't particularly _nice_ , but _pleased_._ _

__"That is _generous_ of you, Optimus," a helmtilt and then a slight nod, "I have moved two meetings. You... _We_ , have a joor." Megatron made sure to correct his own words, otherwise Op-- the Prime would, and that wouldn't do. Prime nodded, the glow of his optics warm before he settled back in his seat, one hand held out. _ _

__Invitingly._ _

__An offer. A call._ _

__"It's been _much too long_ , High Commander. Come to me," Optimus fairly hummed, but his voice was deep, a rumble few had ever heard. _ _

__It was not suitable for spark-stirring speeches or calling the Senate to order, after all. No, it was suitable for _one thing only_ , and as such, it belonged to _Megatron_. None other would ever hear it. Just as no one else, ever, would be allowed _this_..._ _

__"As you wish, Prime." It was a promise, a whispered acquiescence softer than most would ever expect the High Commander to even be _capable_ of speaking. _ _

__The moment Megatron took that first step towards his Prime the windows darkened and patterns of glowing light that followed the skyline outside making up for the obscured view appeared instead. Even when he was close enough, though, Megatron didn't take the outstretched hand that was offered._ _

__Instead he stopped before the Prime and then lowered himself to his knees between Optimus' widely-spaced legs, one hand hovering over a foot, but not touching. The hand Optimus had held out just barely trailed over the top of a tread before it landed on top of Megatron's helm._ _

__"As it _pleases_ me, Megatron." It was a correction as much as a promise, that hand sliding from the top of Megatron's helm down the side, the thumb curling into the eyehole of the tilted back mask and scraping around the edges. _ _

__"You may," the Prime said, helm tilting just slightly, optics glowing brightly in the dimmed light of the room._ _

__The buzz in his voice from his smile became slightly more pronounced as his gentle touch and quiet allowance caused the faintest of shivers to run along the treads in Megatron's upper arms. The hand that had hovered above his foot was lowered, curling about the top and fingers laid along the sides, but not burrowing into the gap between leg and foot._ _

__That had not been given._ _

__"Megatron." There was no steel here, but a call, a demand, nonetheless. A call that couldn't be left unanswered._ _

__Not here, not now._ _

__Nonetheless, there was a tightening of his treads, a firming of his neck before Megatron turned his helm upwards, looking into now-narrowed lambent optics._ _

__"Turn them off."_ _

__He had delayed, and for that, there would of course be a reprimand. A shiver caused the plates of his armour to sing quietly._ _

__He was _Megatron_ and _none_ would---_ _

__"... Yes. As it pleases you, Prime."_ _

__Punishments were to be taken with grace, less they be heightened in severity. But to turn himself blind..._ _

__Well, of course Opt--- the Prime knew what that was to ask of him._ _

__"It does, Megatron," Prime rumbled, leaning over until his lower face was resting against the tipped-back helm, his other hand coming up to cradle the other side of the helm, thumb curled into the other eyehole of the mask._ _

__Turning his optics offline meant turning them _off_. Not one single spectrum allowed. _ _

__It was a sore test of his patience and trust, even as he knew where both of his Prime's hands were; on his helm, following contours with too-light caresses._ _

__Then Prime _chuckled_ , the bouncing noise setting the plating of his lower face humming. There was a slow, firm scrape of that plating against his helm, the vibrations perfectly harmonized to within only three astro-seconds set the metal of his helm tingling. _ _

__Still. He had to. remain. still._ _

__His hand - that one touch allowed him - on Prime's foot tightened, and Megatron's engine growled. Another chuckle, the vibrations changing slightly, thumbs rubbing along the inner edges, just this side of _inside_ the mask-helm, and Megatron's hand twitched._ _

__"I do not remember giving you leave to crush my foot, Megatron. Both hands on the floor in front of you." It was spoken _against his helm_ , vibrations singing down metal as the sensors had now attuned themselves fully to that voice, to the plating against it. _ _

__That this command was followed by a brief, though fierce flare of internal protest told them _both_ (seeing as the treads tightened in answer to the internal reaction and Prime knew what to look for) that it had, indeed, been much too long. _ _

__The hand was removed quickly enough though and intertwined with the other before they were put on the floor. There was a moment of silence, and then a sigh. The Prime's hands on Megatron's helm tightened just slightly before they were completely removed._ _

__"Not even that. Hands flat on the floor, Megatron." _Now_ there was steel, the sound scraping along the top of his helm as Prime still had his face pressed against it, the vibrations skittering down the surface but digging deep and tugging on sensors, making him twitch. _ _

__His engine stuttered out a growl in reply, but Megatron unlaced his hands and put them flat on the floor, as told._ _

__There was no disobeying that tone of voice._ _

__Oh, he _could have_ , but that hadn't been part of their current implied _need_. It had been too long for wilful and stubborn resistance and the following punishments. They needed their rhythm again._ _

__"Much too long. What else will I need to take away?" Prime's voice was gentle again as he spoke, the steel dropped from his warm rumble. Concern made the hum almost sweet as he rubbed his face against the helm, touching as much as he could of its surface._ _

__Those touches, of course, stirred reaction. Optimus smiled, adding another note to the vibrations, his pleasure deepening as he caught the faint shivers, the strain of treads._ _

__He raised his hands to follow the outline of said treads, digging into each dip and raise, humming an old favourite as his high commander attempted to stay _still_ , to give as little as possible... _Still_ not understanding, even after all this time, that Optimus did not need him to bellow and writhe to appreciate the slight arch of back or the sound of weapons systems turning off, one after the other._ _

__That he _wanted_ those slight hints that Megatron was doing his best to restrain._ _

__Optimus straightened and sat back in his seat, optics glowing as Megatron _stiffened,_ the revving engine turning to growling. There was no other protest at suddenly being deprived of all touch, however. He could see the frustration, the expectation of rebuke at what Megatron probably thought was another of his breach of the rules._ _

__At least he had stopped resisting._ _

__The sound of plates sliding apart brought _another_ noise from Megatron however, one Optimus knew he alone was privy to._ _

__"Come here." His voice heavy with both invitation and anticipation, Optimus touched the top of a tread again, the touch and his command causing Megatron to finally look up, optics narrow but still dark. As they should be._ _

__There was no hesitation as Megatron took those offered hands, even if he clearly was _displeased_ at being directed to sit on his Prime's lap when he realised that was where he was pulled. But it gave them a perfect position, and when Megatron tilted his head in question, gently tugging on his 'captive' hands, Optimus shook his head and squeezed the hands in his grip in return._ _

__"As it pleases you, Prime," Megatron's murmur this time was as deep as Optimus' rumble, but softer, gentler... a different sound than that of the Prime's, more giving._ _

__Few would have believed the High Commander capable of such a tone._ _

__The glow from the Matrix, whitish-silver with a tint of blue, highlighted Megatron's silver accents and burnished his treads, while turning Optimus' red paler and silvering the blue. Besides the faintest of light that originated from the crease between walls and ceiling, that glow, along with the pulsing artificial skyline - which had turned blue in response to the tint of the Matrix-fire - was the only light._ _

__Their hands gripping each others, Megatron bent over and down, unerring even if he couldn't see and hovered above the exposed Matrix. The glow burned away all shadow from his face except in the deepest corners and the eyeholes of his tipped-back helm._ _

__"For you only, Megatron. This is yours... As you're mine," Optimus smirked - the sound this carried being a sharper hum, tingling against metal and audio receptors both. And he made sure, even as Megatron growled at the assertion, that Megatron got both parts of the experience by briefly dipping his head down and to the side to brush against the nearest tread._ _

__His reward was the growl turning airier in quality and then Megatron bent down the last bit, lips following the outline of the 'handles' on the Matrix, moving inwards to let teeth scrape over its rounded surface._ _

__Optimus shuddered, the Matrix flared and two engines revved in the silence._ _

__Light playing in time with the kisses dropped over the curving metal, Megatron followed the lines and grooves of the pattern set in the Matrix. He moved slowly inwards, lips tingling as he went. His Prime's grip on his hands was almost crushing, but somehow still managing squeezes and rubs with his fingers that sent static racing down his arms._ _

__"You can turn your optics on again, Megatron," Prime said quietly, and the response was almost instant despite the fact that Megatron almost blinded himself with the Matrix's light._ _

__Faced, then, with the burning center of the precious and over all _powerful _artefact, Megatron paused. Memories called up by the action and displaying former actions like this, and the result thereof...___ _

____He shuddered, then stilled._ _ _ _

____Above him, his Prime chuckled, thumbs rubbing over his hands and Megatron steeled himself, leaned down, and kissed the flaming center of their civilization._ _ _ _

____***  
"Stay."_ _ _ _

____Megatron stared for several quiet moment, then it slowly morphed into a glare, but he wouldn't condescend to yank his hand out of the grip._ _ _ _

____"My Prime is awfully _demanding_." _ _ _ _

____The hum Megatron got in response told him of an amused smile as much as the tilted helm and the glow from the optics did._ _ _ _

____"The joor is not yet up. Rest." The hand not holding Megatron's was raised, palm up. That was an invitation though, not a command._ _ _ _

____"... As it _pleases_ my Prime," Megatron said with a snort and then sat back, the seating having adjusted itself to allow for reclining._ _ _ _

____"It does please me, yes." That was as amused as it was an innocent statement of fact, and Megatron sneered, shook his helm and then pulled it down over his face, offlining his optics._ _ _ _

____"My Prime has said to rest. Do so then as well, in the time you still have before angry senators come wailing about a midnight session. We _are_ both busy, after all."_ _ _ _


	4. Oil Wrestling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladiator fighting is part brutal combat and part showmanship and performance for the masses - some types of combat more than others.
> 
> Megatron and Grimlock are "encouraged" to participate in one of these types of not-so-brutal variations.
> 
> Grimlock disapproves.
> 
> Megatron does as well, but Megatron is also a consummate performer and most of all; Megatron does not lose.

"This not a _fight_." The dull, carmine glow of Grimlock's optic band still stood out against his black, nearly featureless faceplates rather startlingly as he shifted on his feet. 

Reluctantly allowing the assistant drones to remove any on-frame weapons (he didn't really have any), as well as take custody of his energy sword, it was a near thing that he didn't go loose on the hovering drones, but this situation had happened once before and he hadn't gotten out of it then, and wouldn't now. Not that he didn't consider ignoring the "futility", but that would mean risking being beaten in the... "fight" itself when he was, inevitably, thrown into the ring.

"You could resign." It was an off-hand, bland comment thrown over a tread-lined shoulder as Gimlock's opponent stood on the other side of the room, allowing the drones to do their work on him. Which included a lot more than just the two drones carting off a shield and a sword, but also disconnecting the cannon on his right arm, the small one on the right side of his back and the large, swing-range one on the left side of his back.

"Me _never_ back down from a fight!" Grimlock snarled and his opponent chuckled dryly. Despite the nonchalance displayed, there was tension spelled out in the tight fit of armour against armour, leaving only hair-line cracks where the seams were, if that, as well as the treads twitching slightly. Megatron wasn't particularly happy with this either, but he had been in enough of these... events to know it was better to accept... and there were some perks for "willingly" participating as a champion.

That still didn't mean he (had to) liked it. 

At all.

"Nothing at all to do with the fact that you'll be barred from participating in the arenas for five vorns if you resign, does it, Grimlock?" Grunting as the last cannon was disconnected, Megatron didn't even bother to smirk at the wordless growl from Grimlock, coming from vocaliser, engine and treads all together.

Ignoring the angry tank and declining to offer the customary sporting wish for success to his opponent, Megatron left to walk down the short corridor at one end of the room, paying no heed to the quiet whoosh and click of the door sliding closed behind him and locking. 

If this had merely been one of those weaponless matches, he wouldn't have minded. He actually _liked_ those, since there was a certain satisfaction in pounding on another with his bare fists and ripping out chunks of armour or limbs off with nothing but his own strength...

But no, this was nothing like that, and Megatron, as always, found himself scowling at the obvious play for _attention_. 

This was a distraction measure, nothing else. Unfortunately, thanks to the natures of all sparks and mechs, it was a very _effective_ and successful one. Not to talk about lucrative, but then, the Council preferred not to blazon that little matter about too loudly.

Or at all.

Grimlock was new enough he'd either settle and accept, or leave soon. 

Usually those who couldn't stand this procedure left after one or two forced or "willing" participations. Stopping at the door that'd open in a klik or so, Megatron ignored the drone that bobbed forward to poke at his pelvic armour and when it did it again, none too gently whacked it away.

It was particularly satisfying to hear the clang as the drone whacked into the wall on the opposite end of the room.

Taking a slow, measured vent manually, his optics dimmed slightly as he concentrated _inwards_. Feeling the faint, electrifying tingle protoform-deep in his frame that heralded a strong, vital spark spread out, lighting his very frame with life, light, and his self. He then followed that feeling to the _center_ ; his spark chamber, emptying with each pulse outwards, then full of crackling cyberstatic charge as his spark coalesced again at the end of each spark pulse. And lastly at a particular mechanism tied to the spark chamber.

It wasn't standard practice anymore, the lights on his chestplating connected to his spark chamber, but it was certainly _appreciated_ when gladiators sported this. And while he merely kept his on a low, constant glow during regular fights as mandated, for this... 

Well, the Council wanted a show, and Megatron was nothing if not a performer. 

The two lights set on his chestplates, round and one a lot larger than the other, suddenly bloomed with brilliant golden glow from their rather perfunctorily dim lighting of earlier.

Sparklights were precious, showing not just the strength and presence of the individual's spark, but showing the spark _off_. The next best thing to opening up everything and offering your coalesced spark for all and sundry to gape at. Earlier, right at the beginning of his "career", sparklights had been mandatory for all gladiators as a part of the procedure of the arenas and the rules themselves.

There was a whine of an antigravity hover engine powering up somewhere off to the left where the drone had hit the wall, and Megatron scowled and finally let that very last thing slide back, refusing to shift on his feet as valve and spike housing was bared. 

The drone subsided back to the corner he'd punched it into earlier at this final acquiescence to the rules. Then the door finally slid open and Megatron scowled before letting the earlier vent taken out, hot, wasted air shimmering for a brief moment before him. Stepping out into the arena, he had to adjust his optics from the glare thrown around and ignored the roar from the crowd for a moment.

Technically the lights weren't blinding or anything and they were adjusted for each set of participants in a match to highlight, compliment and show off all angles as clearly and cleanly as possible. No, the issue was with the fine sheen of half a finger deep oil laying as still as a liquid mercury lake over the floor of the arena. 

Still, until Megatron and, on the other side of the ring, Grimlock stepped out into it, of course. The rings created by each of them walking towards each other spread outwards slowly and collided in the middle, trembling little waves then ending up lapping at the combatants' legs before they met and stared at each other.

Smirking at Grimlock, Megatron turned away from the hulking dynobot and threw his arms out as he turned around. The light played over his off-white frame and slid down the engraved glyphs spread out over his limbs, and finally caught in the red paint on his helm. The crowd briefly became louder, even as Grimlock merely stood there, arms folded over his chestplates and glare fierce and heavy on Megatron's back.

"You a _disgrace_ , Megatron."

"No, merely fulfilling expectations and giving the audience something to look at. This _is_ a performance after all. That is why I'm the champion." 

And you're not went unsaid, but Megatron caught the brief, hot pink flare from Grimlock's optic band just as he turned around and in time for the referee to come up to them on his hovering platform.

"Remember, no weapons, don't go for the throat or face, don't attempt to smother your opponent in the substrate, sliding your panel to cover equipment means you forfeit, and it's further cheating to be rough prior to a surrender to your opponent's equipment when it's charged. End of match must involve verbally calling it." Gold optics flickered from Grimlock to Megatron, with the latter the only one to acknowledge the referee with a tilt of his helm and an arch, sarcastic look. 

They _knew_ the rules, thank you.

The referee shot higher up in the air, both to have a good view of the combatants and to not be in the way for the audience which had now fallen silent. Somewhere deep within the arena's structure a noise rang out, the oil vibrating as the sound vibrated through the floor and up in the air.

Grimlock fairly _roared_ and his charge seemed rather out of place for this situation. Megatron knew he couldn't avoid it, not this close and without any weapon at all to mitigate and redirect the power of it. 

Grimlock was both larger and broader than he was; gleaming and powerful, he was a handsome mech and if he would just _play the audience_ he would have more success than just by his combat prowess. But that was where Grimlock refused to go, and where a number of others _did_. Either way, despite the differences Megatron and Grimlock were as close to evenly matched as anyone would get and not possess the same type of frame, which was partly why they'd been matched together. 

They crashed together with a ringing echo and while it was a calculated risk, Megatron let Grimlock topple him but snapped out a hand, sliding it with slow intent over Grimlock's thigh, already feeling the mech's heavy weight shift slightly even if it was too late to stop the fall. 

Then _around_ the thigh, moving quickly again and finding slight purchase in armour seams to _yank_ as they both went down, the loud, dull clang not really muffled by the accompanying splash and spray of oil.

The only reason Megatron wasn't irrevocably trapped and already at a disadvantage underneath his opponent was due to the fact that Grimlock's angle and weight had been abruptly changed by his leg being pulled straight forward as they fell. Given, it also had something to do with the fact that Grimlock had _twitched_ at that slow opening stroke.

As the oil rained down around them, sliding over expanses of ivory, black and burnished yellow armour and into seams, highlighting every detail and rendering the reflected glow over their armour glossy and wet, the combatants attempted to gain some sort of upper hand while the audience rumbled in delight. 

Grimlock reached for an arm, slipping at first over the slick metal, the treads at outer edge of Megatron's upper arm and shoulder gave him purchase, to pull. Megatron curled up, planting a foot against the jagged, fang-like decoration at the center of Grimlock's abdominal plating and refusing to follow Grimlock's pull. 

He dug his foot in, rubbing down and this time it wasn't for the quickly-subdued twitch from Grimlock _or_ for the audience but rather to dislodge as much oil as he could.

And then, even as Grimlock yanked at his arm and twisted it, pinning him part-way, Megatron snapped his hand back from around the black thigh and brushed it against the front of Grimlock's bared spike housing instead. Even curled up as they were, he knew it'd be visible that that hadn't been an "attack" as such.

Grimlock jerked backwards, growling at him, optic band livid red. And as the hulking tank yanked on Megatron as he still held onto the arm, Megatron _kicked_ and then _pushed_ with the foot against Grimlock's stomach, sending them flying in the _other_ direction.

Grimlock let go and they both angled away, Megatron rolling before coming up on his feet, sliding precariously before he stopped. Oil coated him from the top of his helm to where his feet disappeared in the oil, the glow from his sparklights casting a faintly golden sheen on the white armour of his chestplates. Grimlock slid on his side, the back-mounted "wing" of part of his altmode keeping him only partly protected from being coated in oil as Megatron had been, especially as he rolled to get upright. 

The burnished yellow on his chestplates fairly _glowed_ in the light, and conspicuously, a few stray sparks crackled around the spike housing, though there was, obviously, not enough charge yet to force it out.

The crowd, nonetheless shifted with the thunderous noise of movement in unison as the two gladiators first circled each other and then collided again, tiny drops of oil being dislodged or sliding down along joints, armour or transformation seams.

Going low, Megatron turned around, arms backwards around Grimlock's waist and pretended not to notice the crowd as he _let_ his spike slide out, having redirected enough charge from elsewhere. Grimlock, glaring down above him was distracted enough to not be able to stop Megatron from bodily pitching him over, helm first, into the oil. 

Hissing as he rolled around and staggered up to his feet again, Grimlock kept from rubbing his helm, but the roar of his engine betrayed both his anger, unwilling charge and his hypocrisy as the tip of his of spike peeked out, delicate blue sparks skipping between each little filament.

" _Pathetic_."

"A performance," Megatron said with a smirk, carefully keeping his own misgivings hidden. If no one else understood how _literally_ he meant by that and his own disgust with it, that wasn't his problem.

Yet, anyway, since he still wondered what all these distractions, all this _mindless entertainment_ building on and feeding off off the lust, rage and violence of both audience and gladiators _was for_.

This time, Grimlock managed to get a firm grim and lifted Megatron up above his helm, and not even the angry, reluctant dynobot was _completely_ without intention of playing the crowd. Megatron was angled diagonally, one leg uncomfortably tossed over Grimlock's shoulder and for a suspended moment showing off the twitching inner workings of Megatron's valve, lit by faint charge since with all this oil sliding down armour and into seams while their frames turned battle-hot it was hard to remain unaffected, before he was slammed into the ground.

Such a move could have rendered him unconscious and definitely would have done so to lesser mechs, but Megatron's heavily armoured helm took some of the impact and his hands the rest. His processor rang with the hit and alerts flickered across his HUD as he kicked out, not needing to see as he caught Grimlock's arm with his legs. Forcing as much weight as he could down on the ground and through the slick oil, Megatron propelled himself around.

A smaller, lighter mech would have twirled around in the air, Grimlock was merely flung sideways and down on his front, creating another impressive spray of oil. This time Megatron didn't let the mech get up; if he was to win this, he needed to end this _now_ preferably, and if not now, then soon. Grimlock was large and strong enough that the longer the wrestling went on, the bigger the chance Megatron would lose.

And Megatron _did not_ lose.

One arm and leg partly caught under him, Grimlock was at a disadvantage but wouldn't be for long. Megatron tossed himself at the mech, catching his free arm and yanking it back around the "wing" kibble, thumb buried into the slight gap between arm and hand armour to get at the cables and wiring, sapping strength and manual control. 

It wasn't _over_ yet, though...

With a slight twist of his lips, Megatron jammed his thigh up against the back of Grimlock's pelvic armour and between the back of his thigh, very deliberately and slowly _rubbing_. The mech partly caught underneath him jerked, and then froze like a turbofox caught in the headlights of a hunter and Megatron threw his other leg over Grimlock's remaining free one, pushing it in towards himself and robbing the tank-alt mech of what balance he had left. The roar of the crowd was a dull, reverberating vibration down his armour as he pressed down.

He had to bend over to keep Grimlock in place given his large size, even as that, again, exposed his valve, but he frankly didn't care.

Of course, Grimlock winning might not be completely terrible; the mech was wired much too straight to do _much at all_ to his downed opponent, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Megatron refused to _lose_ even where his opponent might not inflict the utter humiliation losing in this type of wrestling match could end in.

The oil underneath made his position and leverage tricky, but his angle lent some security and as Grimlock grunted, snarled and then _roared_ , engine and vocaliser both, Megatron stayed on top. 

The sea of oil around them glittered and laid line a fine, sparkling sheen on their armour that was heating up from the lamps directed down at the arena. It created charge-stirring lines of fire down transformation seams that the oil had dripped down into. The oil was, also, dripping down onto and sliding down dropped and charged spikes, and teasingly dripping at the very entrance of Megatron's valve. It was hard to stay unaffected, but he _would not_ grind against Grimlock in pursuit of _base relief_.

Grimlock attempted to heave, briefly unseating Megatron, but he came down just as heavily as before as the awkward position and lack of proper purchase made Grimlock slip instead of get up properly.

Another klik went by, the audience completely quiet as they waited for either a break or for surrender. A surrender Grimlock was completely uninterested in giving, but as yet another klik went by, despite wriggling and another attempt at a heave which ended the same as the first, it was obvious to _everyone_ that Megatron had won.

It was just that Grimlock had to admit that as well. Last time he'd participated in this type of event, he'd _won_ , but now...

"... I... _give_." The growl vibrated through both their frames, subtly setting the oil vibrating as well, a hot, second layer on top of their frames, a physical sort of caress EM fields couldn't duplicate. Megatron shivered and stayed where he was as the referee repeated the nearly sub-sonic surrender and the crowd roared, drowning out any and all of Grimlock's frustration except the physical vibration that Megatron could feel.

A moment or two of discordant confusion as the crowd couldn't agree upon what they wanted to see next, the sound slowly solidified into a unified call for the winner's mercy.

Megatron could do as he wished.

His chuckle was subsonic, meant only for Grimlock as he leaned forward as much as he could, keeping his hold on the downed mech.

"Let this be a _lesson_ , Grimlock..." He could, of course, take whatever he wanted from said lesson, but he certainly hoped the dynobot was _listening_ even as he slid his free hand up along the back of a black thigh, taking care to dig the edges of his fingers into seams and stroking along the cables in the hip joint before his thumb came to rest right alongside Grimlock's still-open valve.

"Performance can also be _distraction_. I won't repeat it." His thumb circled the valve, pressing against the sensitive rim and sliding along with the oil gathered there. He paused, intent as heavy as his weight against Grimlock's shaking, raging frame and his thumb against that valve...

And then let go and stepped away, charged spike forcibly pulled back and his panel snapping closed. Keeping his face carefully blank at the disapprovingly-approving roar of the crowd, Megatron turned and walked away. Well and truly distracted by the performance, and eating out of... immediately, his hand, yes, but ultimately..?

Megatron passed out of the arena and didn't look back to watch Grimlock stalk out as well on the opposite end, shifting his shoulders as the doors abruptly closed behind him and cut of all noise.

Ultimately, the hand the audience out there, slavering for the violence shown by and in lust for the gladiators, was eating out of belonged to the Council of Ancients.

And he would find out _why_.

... After he took care of a slight _problem_.


End file.
